


Fight or Flight

by cat_77



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Clary’s runes, Gen, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 21:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14757011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: He had no idea what he was doing, really.  He shouldn’t have even been a part of this.  No, that was a lie.  One look at just who fought, just who was willing to sacrifice everything, and he knew he had no choice.





	Fight or Flight

**Author's Note:**

> It was really quiet at work and my mind wandered.
> 
> * * *

To say the battle had been intense would be an understatement, but there simply was no other descriptor. Demons, Angels, Nephilim, and more converged on an area that had become part portal and part pocket dimension, where the wind swirled fire and brimstone and the translucent walls dripped with ichor.

He had no idea what he was doing, really. He shouldn’t have even been a part of this. No, that was a lie. One look at just who fought, just who was willing to sacrifice everything, and he knew he had no choice. He would rush the gates of Edom, blow them down and take on everything that charged at him from the other side if it meant there was a chance, the slimmest of possibilities that a certain someone would survive.

Someones, really. Plural. One perhaps a little more than others if he was to be honest with himself, but he so rarely did that. 

Thankfully a demon with razor sharp claws chose that moment to sail above him and distract him from such thoughts. He let loose a ball of fire and perhaps a little bit more, and it exploded into several much smaller winged beings that were picked off by a slew of arrows and a few swinging blades. He nodded his thanks at Alexander and Clary, and then knocked back some fanged thing that wanted to make a move of the non-romantic sort on Jace.

An unearthly wail sounded and he swore the entire place shook with the force of it. He knew his eardrums did. It was enough for him to stagger back, equilibrium lost until Isabelle pushed him upright and helped him find his footing again. Of course, she took off again shortly thereafter. He looked for the source of the wail hoping to silence it, and then realized that was a task he was truly incapable of completing.

It was not a demon that screamed for the loss of its own kind, or even one that screeched as it made its attack. It was an Angel, as in a real full-blooded one, as in the reason for this insane mission in the first place, that howled in agony. He looked into the pit of a portal, and knew they were running out of time.

There had been two of them. Well, first there had been one. The one was taken and chained and would undoubtedly be tortured. The other was in no way going to allow that to happen. Unfortunately, the other was severely injured and now half wrapped in chains as well, both of them dragged and dangled over what was either an entrance to the darkest parts of Edom, or an unending abyss. He honestly wasn’t sure. Maybe the intent had been to send them to Edom and the casting had gone awry when the Angels and the Angel-blooded fought back. That was the nearest he could figure to their current situation. It wasn’t as if he was going to dig too deep into it; his job was to make sure the people he cared about didn’t follow them down with an added bonus should they actually managed to save the winged menaces that really should have been powerful enough to do it on their own.

The problem, as always, went back to Valentine. He had figured out a way to trap an Angel and others thought it was a nifty idea and wanted to try as well. No one had yet to replicate exactly what he had managed, but they at least now knew there was a potential weakness to exploit and ran with it. Well, some. Unfortunately, the Nephilim took great offense to this and were determined to stop it. So far no scrupulous Downworlder had made the attempt lest they face the inevitable wrath, but there were plenty that were unscrupulous who he was quite certain would like to give it a whirl. Technically, he himself should try to stop any Warlocks with a death wish, or at least help them fulfill that wish without achieving their prize. He just sort of figured helping the others rolled into that. 

Kind of.

As long as he didn’t stare at the details too hard.

He did stare at one particular detail. A fiery little redhead that launched herself off of the rocky ledge she had just climbed, blades in hand, to slice through two demons that had hovered just out of her grasp for far too long. He sighed and conjured a barrier to lower her far more gently to the ground than she could have managed on her own with the speed and force she had going on, and accepted a breathless, “Thanks, Magnus,” as his due before she ran off to likely to the same thing all over again.

Or possibly not.

The mortals were going to be the death of him. The literal death. Mainly because he would be foolish enough to follow and if not stop them, then at least assist to mitigate the damages.

Not just Clary, but Jace as well jumped into the pit. Not around it, not over it, but directly into it. Blondie caught himself on the chain from which one of the Angels hung and then caught her when she almost missed the target. Together, they climbed down to where the supposed superior being hung nearly helpless. Jace held her as she used her stele to draw a rune Magnus had never seen before, an almost faraway look across her face as she did so, while Alexander shot down anything that dared to fly too close. 

Magnus watched as the rune glowed bright and then faded into nothing before the manacles released and the chain began to unwind. He shook his head because of course Clary would get a message about some unknown thing to use and of course Jace would go to make sure she survived the attempt and of course Alexander would cover them both. He stepped up to do his part and joined Isabelle as she fought off the more ground-based attackers and tried not to think about how he saw Clary prepared to jump over to the second Angel to repeat the task, flame-filled void thoroughly ignored.

Once the Angels were freed, the battle was pretty much over. The demons and whatever had summoned them tried to run for the hills and ended up running into blades and other weaponry instead. Clary and Jace climbed back up the chains and, with a little help from Isabelle, managed to set their feet on solid ground right before two streaks of bright light lit up the sky and the chasm began to crumble and close.

He figured that would be that, Angels not exactly known for sticking around for chit chat. They would go back to his place, get some takeout, and call it a day.

Except that the Angels came back.

They didn’t quite thank the Nephilim so much as say something along the lines of them proving themselves worthy of their bloodline and so few had and whatever. That was about the time Aldertree and some of his cronies finally appeared and tried to take the credit on behalf of the Clave. The Angels won major points in Magnus’ book by silencing them with a comment about how the Clave had lost sight of its original mission and how they needed to trust in the four headstrong fools before them to lead them back onto the right path.

There was a bright light, brilliant and blinding, and the Clave members ducked and covered. Magnus found that he was still within the protective circle cast by the Angels and was going to question it, but found a complete lack of speech was a much better approach instead.

Not that he could have spoken.

Not that he could barely breathe.

The Angels had left a parting gift and it was a doozy.

His eyes went to Alexander first, as they tended to. He was healthy and whole, not a scratch upon him. He also now bore massive wings the same deep black as his usual hair, the very tips of the feathers dipped with silver. Beside him, his sister was similarly appointed, only hers held the slight hue of blue that seemed to catch in the light surrounding them and nearly glow of their own accord.

He turned to find Jace staring in awe with wings of a pale not quite brown tipped with gold. He seemed not to notice though, as he was too busy staring at Clary, with wings of reddish brown that practically dripped copper.

They all turned to the Angels as one and seemed to listen to whatever they had to say even though no lips actually moved. It was then he realized the Angels had yet to speak verbally at all, that he had heard them solely in his own mind, just as he did again when they said, “Their wings are glamoured and can be seen solely by those they choose to allow to do so.” That made sense, right up until they added, “As are yours.”

That’s when he felt a weightless presence at his back. He turned slowly and, in all truth and honesty, expected scales or claws or something lizard or demon in nature. Instead, he found feathers. Lots and lots of feathers. They were the darkest midnight black at the top, faded to gray in the middle, and were tipped with pure white at the ends. When he managed to form a coherent thought, all he managed was a choked, “How?”

“Asmodeus saved my life more than once, as now has his son,” the first Angel replied as if that meant something deep and meaningful. Maybe it did, Magnus was a little bit too much in shock to make much sense of it without a quiet bit of contemplation and perhaps a bottle of Merlot.

That apparently was that as the two looked at each other in their usual enigmatic way, and then flew off into streaks of brightness, their protective barrier slowly fading as they disappeared. Aldertree and his cronies were still there and demanded to know what happened and they managed to come up with something almost believable about being granted healing for their injuries or some such thing. They promised reports, which was just silly as they would go to Alexander first before they would go to Idris and he would make certain they all said precisely the same thing.

He pretended to look at a watch that didn’t exist and announced, “Oh, look, it’s five o’clock,” and opened a portal behind himself. It may have been slightly larger than usual but, really, he wasn’t quite sure how the wings would fit and wasn’t about to risk the new appendages. 

Aldertree let them go, probably under the assumption that they would return to the Institute versus Magnus’ loft but he should have been used to disappointment by that point in his life.

Later, after far more than some Merlot, he managed to talk the foursome down from trying out flight for the first time from his very rooftop, eliciting promises that they would only do so while sober, and that the first attempt would definitely not be from that height. They would still need to work on maneuverability and verifying the glamours and all sorts of other things, just not at the given moment.

Later still, he would hold Alexander close and silently trace the new rune that had appeared, the one that looked almost like a stylized feather and matched a new almost birthmark-like imprint upon his own skin, the one that didn’t show in any reflection yet seemed to glow golden when he concentrated on it.

He still didn’t quite know what he was doing, but he was beginning to understand that there may be a reward at the end after all. Alexander in his arms was proof enough of that.


End file.
